The Twelve
by Neoslate
Summary: There can be no hope in this hell. No hope at all.


Chapter 1: The Ruins

Sal sidestepped as the ground beside him erupted in an explosion of earth and stone. The rain of whips narrowly missing the nimble Highwayman as he took on the enormous juggernaut of human flesh before him. The Bloodletter fell forward with the effort of swinging his enormous flail-like whip and Sal saw his chance. He knew the gigantic brigand would not be able to recover in time before he finished it off, the multitude of cuts and gashes that his team had inflicted on it slowing it down for opening to end it.

Quick as an arrow, he stepped forward into the off balance mass before him, planting Fury, his pistol, underneath the lug's chin. He could see the man's eyes widen in that instant as his finger began to pull the trigger, the notion that his life would end becoming a reality to him. The moment passed as if in slow motion, the cock being released, the ignition of the shot culminating in an explosion of blood and brain matter bursting out from the top off the poor human's skull. He watched the man's eyes as the light was extinguished in them in an instant.

Guilt wracked him as the same realisation came back to him. He would never find it easy to end another life. It was why he had chosen the Ruins. The living very seldom ventured into the old, sprawling, ruined mansion as it had been very nearly overrun by all manner of evil, often undead, creatures. Only those that were extremely desperate to escape their pursuers or those that served whatever being controlled these constructs called this a safe haven. Though be it head on through an axe or sword, or through a dagger in the back, joining the ranks of the undead was a certainty for any that lingered too long in this cursed place.

"YOU MORON SAL!" A female voice yelled at him. Sal broke contact with the lifeless eyes of the brute as he crumpled down onto the ever rotting floor. He looked up to see his Arbalest Isabelle and her oversized crossbow Willow, saturated in the matter of the cranial cavity he had just emptied. "You KNOW Willow will start jamming if she gets blood on her!"

Sal could only roll his eyes which would have sent Isabelle into more of a rage if it weren't for their stern Houndmaster Verne stepping in between the two as he bent down to whisper something in his dog Ville's ear. It began to squirm and within moments was straining to be released upon their remaining foe. Only when the beast had begun to froth at the mouth was it released, a small smile perching itself upon Verne's lips at the response of his best friend.

Ville surged forward across the sight of the small skirmish to where the last member of the team was caught in a struggle against the last remaining enemy, a Cutthroat. Armed with two large daggers this enemy would have been too dangerous for Sal to take on his own and as such the task had been delegated to the silent Crusader known only as Dominic. He had taken the task with a solemn nod, his plate armor and chainmail too thick for Cutthroat to penetrate easily while the brigand was too nimble for the armor clad knight to land a solid strike. A perfect stalemate, but not for much longer.

Ville hit the conflict at full speed, hurling himself at the fugitive's back leg. The mutt ripped the stabilising leg out from under the man, calf tearing, muscle wrenching away from bone as he fell. He tried a jab at the dog as it pulled him back toward the ragtag group of adventurers that had incurred upon their refuge but futilely missed. His other hand turned his second dagger into an anchor, driving it into a crack in the stone floor, stopping the mutt from pulling him further towards the group of enemies he had been fighting. All too late he realised how fatal a mistake that was as Dominic towered over him, greatsword soaring above his head ready to strike. It dove down reminiscent of an eagle swooping down on a hare. The slight clash of metal upon metal sounded and then another explosion of stone, earth and blood erupted from where, in a final attempt to save his own life, the cutthroat had deflected the sword into his own face.

A few minutes passed as everybody steadied themselves, wary of possible reinforcements, before the usual post-fight routine began. Isabelle retrieving her bolt from the head of the dead fusilier at the back of the room, the first casualty of the fight.

"Sal, you're on watch," came the gruff rumble from Verne. Sal groaned aloud earning him a warning look from the older man and a complimentary growl from his pet. Isabelle stifled a snicker behind a gore covered hand and then, upon once again finding herself covered in brain matter, began her own series of quiet complaints. It was small but it offered Sal a certain level of mirth as he left to go watch the entrance.

In the meantime Verne began looking for loot on the bodies and was soon joined by Dominic while Isabelle searched around the room for for any hidden compartments that could hide treasure. The room was dimly lit with a cooking fire surrounded by sleeping mats in the centre where the brigands had made their camp. As such, it wouldn't be too difficult find something of interest.

And she found it in an ornate sarcophagus hidden at the end of the room. Taking an old, disposable key she pushed it into the lock on the side and the coffin popped open with a hiss. Careful to not disturb the remains, she attempted to move the lid to no avail. Her strength would not be enough to lift it off. She needed the assistance of the other two.

She turned to find Dominic already behind her. Despite jolting in place and audibly gasping she managed to keep in the scream and proceeded to compose herself. There was a rumor going around the Hamlet, the small run down village where all the adventurers stayed, that the silent crusader had his tongue cut out and was sent here in punishment of defying an order from his Chapter Leader. As such, he had adapted to become almost silent, even in the armor he rarely took off and never spoke. It had presented a problem and an improvement for all the adventurers because everyone had need to learn sign to communicate with him and in doing so had been able to better communicate ambushes even when not teamed with him.

"Don't frighten me like that Dom," she said between chuckles, "You nearly gave me a heart attack."

"I've seen stress heart attacks, you weren't even close," he signed back, the rapid shrugging in his armor alluding to his own silent giggle. He motioned behind him dismissively and then pointed at the sarcophagus and nodded toward it. The message was clear enough to understand. "Not much there. Do you need help with that?"

"Yeah, I was just about to go get you guys actually."

"Thought so," he signed before stepping past her and walking to the far end of the tomb. He began counting down with his finger and then the two proceed to throw the heavily lid onto the floor with a loud clang.

"Yah wanna do it any louder?" came Sal's voice. The cocky arrogance in it almost instantly made Isabelle's blood boil as Dominic left his spot and came over to join her.

"Aren't you supposed to be keeping wat-"

"Shut it you two. We don't have time for your bickering," Verne cut her off as he threw Dominic his pack, "We have to make it back before nightfall. Plus Ville's keeping watch until we get this shit packed and moving."

"Yeah Cap," Sal smirked from behind their leader.

"Now what do we got?" muttered the Houndmaster as he peered into the metal casket. "Bah! A couple of crests and a bust? That's it? This was not worth getting shot over!"

The rest of the team stood staring at him bewildered, only now noticing the growing red patch on his left arm.

"What? It's just a graze. It'll stop soon enough. The fusilier got me with that first blast is all. Luckily this is the last one."

Growling followed by the sound of rattling alerted them to coming danger as the all too familiar sound of bones growing closer spurned them into action. They quickly filled the packs with the looted treasure they had found and hurried over to the entrance. They stacked themselves in their marching order, Sal at the front followed by Dominic then Verne and Isabelle bringing up the rear.

Sal poked his head out to check for nearby enemies, his head returning just as quickly as he signalled that everything was ok. They darted from the room, their destination: the safety of the Hamlet. The one safe place they knew they could rest up and revive their spirits a little.

So they ran. A gruesome scene of carnage behind them, the terrifying gloom of the Ruins around them, and the allure of sombre safety in front. This mission completed brought them one step closer to their goal:

The Darkest Dungeon.

* * *

Hey guys, Neo here with something not actually League of Legends. I've been playing the shit out of Darkest Dungeon recently (as in since like January) and had been wanting to write up a bit about it. I'm already working on follow up chapters but can't tell you when ill be finishing/uploading them though they will be coming. In the meantime sit tight, there is League stuff on its way and I'll see y'all on the flipside in with your reviews :) Until next time, see y'all :)


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